Fetal Demon Harvest
by KatrinaLebowitz
Summary: Pickles and Nathan have been best friends for years, it was only a matter of time till they experimented. I'm trash at summaries, hope to continue this story for at least a couple more chapters. I get a lot of inspiration from horror and scifi novels so expect lots of that! Second chapter is all storyline no fluff! Deal wit it.
1. Chapter 1

AN: I do not own Metalocalypse. I also don't own the X-Files. But boy if I did…

Reviews are love! I like to think that I write for myself but it's really nice to read critique!

Pickles had been under the influence of numerous narcotics for the past twenty-four hours. It had been New Year's Eve after all. Well, it was New Year's Eve like four weeks ago. At Mordhaus it was New Year's Eve all of January, naturally. At this point in his binge Pickles had experienced all the various stages of drunken bliss and panicked fear, dealing with all stages more or less the same, with more narcotics.

"Whoa 'ay…slow _down_ how'dya read 'em so fast?" Pickles slouched forward, his tequila sunrise dripping into the tub. Nathan was speeding through the channels on the TV, browsing for something either showing visceral real life or hard core porn.

"I don't read every little thing." Nathan grunted and proceeded to go painfully slow through the guide. Nathan cocked his eyebrow at Pickles, sipping his beer.

"Oh Jeeshzus, jusht put on Braveheart! Itsch a classic!"

"Nos! Bravehearts ams raceists." Skwisgarr sneared. The lead guitarist was sinking into the tub, perhaps the mystery drug he had injected earlier was affecting him, or maybe it was the subtle tug of certain Norwegian that was pulling him closer towards the edge of the tub.

"Amenst Gibson playkings the Scotts?" Toki asked, sipping on a glass that could either have been water or vodka.

"Well yeah! Itsch-…"

"Ohh my gad! The truth…is out ther'!" Pickles exclaimed, practically jumping out of the tub. Nathan scrolled over the iconic sci-fi series the X-Files.

"Oh hell yeah, this the one with the family? It's uh…like their dad is their brother and they fuck the mom kinda family…" Nathan struggled to remember the name of the episode.

"Oh OH! Tha' inbred fellas' this one is brutal, doods." Pickles laughed, remembering the disturbing episode.

"Inceskutuals, ugh…" The rapidly sinking swede moaned. Without hesitation, Toki firmly grasped him by the shoulders and righted him against the smooth marble tub. The action went unnoticed by the rest of the bandmates.

Nathan and Pickles were sold on watching the X-Files, the two Scandinavians exited, neither being able to keep up with the strange English jargon the two FBI agents used. Nathan only found it a little weird when Toki exclaimed how _badly_ he needed Skwisgaar to show him some riff on the guitar from their new album. Toki had been saying that a lot lately. Since when did Toki practice? Nathan wondered why if they were practicing so much together why Toki's playing was still the same.

"Yeah, this shit is brutal, the mom is all, like just torso and shit." Nathan grinned, watching the opening scene of all the inbred family burying the doomed deformed child.

Murderface eventually put himself into a frenzy over the idea of fucking a quadruple amputee (the mother in the episode) and had to leave the room to "look something up".

The two remaining band members didn't notice the rest of their band mates leave though, the two were decently big fans of the show. There was nothing not metal about two fringe FBI agents tracking insane supernatural creatures around the United States using taxpayer dollars, and there was always murder. And the two agents rarely gave a shit who died in their quest for the truth. In fact, it sounded like something Dethklok did on the regular. And of course, Dana Scully was a 10 as far as Nathan was concerned, and she dissected disgusting anomalies and ran around in heels, what isn't hot about that?

"Pickles, "Nathan suddenly exclaimed. His eyes wide as he looked from Pickles to the screen.

"Yeea?"

"Is…I mean, is Scully kinda'…uh I dunno, really fuckin' hot?"

"Yeah, I guess..." Pickles giggled.

Nathan grunted, throwing back the rest of his beer.

"You could be a good Scully…" Nathan risked a mumble under his breath. They both were gingers, and brutal, and…no well, it wasn't gay that Nathan thought that, was it?

"Oh yeeauh…?" Pickles purred, he had let his drink aimlessly bob across the tub, his shoulders pressing against Nathan's arm. The front man blushed wildly, catching the suggestive tone. Being embarrassed was not metal.

"I mean, with the hair and stuff."

"Willya'…willya' be my Mulder? Huh?" Pickles smirked, threw back a couple gulps from a magically appearing bottle and ran his flushed cheek over Nathan's arm, feeling the hair stand on end as he glided his swollen lips over coarse black hair.

"Mhhmm…" Nathan blushed, a sideways glance revealed a very flustered and drunk Pickles. The drummer's lips were bruised, like he had been biting them all day, probably a result of coming down from whatever drugs he was one. His slightly upturned nose was bright red and his electric green eyes shined, smile sloppy but somehow extremely charming.

This wasn't the first time Pickles had openly flirted with Nathan, it was always when the two were alone and Pickles always initiated it. Besides, they had known each other a long time, nothing was sacred, and it never went beyond buddy masturbating anyway.

But tonight Nathan noticed something, he actually _liked_ having his drummer this close to him, he liked Pickles lips dragging drunkenly over his arm, he liked how Pickles _looked._ Usually those buddy masturbating sessions consisted of the two of them not even facing one another, but here Nathan sat, enjoying this intimacy his friend was showing him.

"Uh…sure." Nathan tried to cover up his blush by rolling his eyes.

"Ya gatta' say it doe!" Pickles whined.

"Hrhmmm…Scully, this is obviously a case of demon fetal harvest…"

Pickles laughed hysterically, it was an old inside joke between the two of them. Whenever they were drunk and poor back in the day they'd replay old recorded episodes on VHS that Nathan had made in high school. The two musicians would drink cheap beer and eat crappy cans of various slop in front of their old beat up TV, theorizing about aliens and musing over whether or not Mulder ever actually did get laid, or if he just watched a shit ton of porn.

Women and girlfriends came and went, even Rebecca, but Pickles had been a constant in Nathan's life since they met. When Nathan was depressed and drunk Pickles was there to cheer him up. When he was bored and uninspired Pickles was always game to do something different and new.

And like the other band mates had figured out, when one was scared, or unsettled, you went to Pickles room for the night.

Whereas Skwisgaar or Murderface might get freaked out by your run of the mill faux snuff film, Nathan tended to research the real stuff, never participating of course. The stunts that the band had pulled like recording at the bottom of the ocean, the insane pyrotechnics in their shows, hell, neutering cats and collecting their balls in a giant glass silos were more Nathan's game.

There were darker things still that Nathan researched. He had thought for a while that he had found the ominous dark net when he stumbled upon a cheap website with gruesome images depicting disemboweled prostitutes at truck stops, just like a modern day Jack the Ripper. He had started receiving cryptic letters in the mail that Offdenson had taken very seriously. As the CFO tracked down the sender, Nathan never admitted to the guys how freaked out he was, save for Pickles.

It was when his over-active imagination fueled his nightmares that Nathan would find himself outside of Pickles' bedroom door. Pickles never seemed annoyed at being woken up or interrupted from whatever he was doing, he always welcomed Nathan.

"Come on…Mulder…it's gatta' have uh' scienti- (hiccup) –tific exsplanation, for dis' here ah…mutant baby…thingy." Pickles broke down giggling, rubbing his fevered face on Nathan's cool skin.

"Uh…" Nathan bit his lip, trying in vain to think of a good Mulder quote, "Have you uh…seen my sister?"

Pickles laughed so hard he started coughing, splashing water at Nathan.

"Feckin' Samantha…! How many…times do dey' find dat chick?"

"I dunno, like ten times, isn't she just dead?"

"Na, she was like some kinda' alien hybrid or somethin'." Pickles reached his arm around Nathan's broad shoulders, his body pressed closer to his friend.

"What would it be like to fuck an alien? Like, a really sexy one?"

"Prolly' outa' dis world…"

Nathan rolled his eyes at Pickles' cheesy joke. Then, as he was want to do, Nathan began imagining a really sexy alien…but somehow that alien morphed into a gelatinous tentacle babe with bright red…dreaded hair…and a beard?

 _Fuck, no , NO, NO, wait…those are a lot of tentacles…hmph, brutal._

The front man of the biggest metal outfit on Earth blushed over his strange fantasy, but he oddly didn't feel ashamed. He just decided he finally didn't give a fuck. If Nathan Explosion was going to have fantasies of his best friend then fine. Pickles matched his musical bravado, they created things together, what could be more intimate than that? Creation and songwriting was the basis of their relationship, why not something like this?

"Hey, let's goedda' my room, huh?"

"Yeah…"

The smaller man was so warm, like a little heater. Nathan figured it was all the booze the drummer drank, it was like coal for his furnace.

Nathan abruptly stood up, pulling them out of the hot tub.

The crash of cold air hitting skin turned both men goose pimpled. At least there was no one around, Pickles thought.

"Aww, shit..." It had been hard to control his erection since the other bandmates vacated the living room. Now Nathan was staring down at the drummer's swollen appendage, it made Pickles feel a little nervous.

"You're drunk, Pickles."

"Yup, when yer' right yer' right." Pickles said nervously, trying to not make a big deal out of the situation.

"Let's…uhm gotobedcause…youknowngihtmares and shit.."

"Uh…the wha?"

And like a firecracker had been lit under his ass, Nathan ran down the hall towards Pickles room. All the while holding Pickles like the little man was a football.

Right now all Nathan could think about was having an excuse _any_ excuse to touch Pickles. If he could use his friend's drunkenness as an excuse then none of this would seem weird, right?

"Dood! Wha…what if someone sees-"

"Fuck 'em."

Nathan kicked open the bedroom door, revealing Pickles messy room. The drummer didn't trust the klokateers to clean it.

Pickles kept his mouth shut as Nathan carried him to his bed. He had never seen Nathan so stoic in yet acting so irrational. It made Pickles' legs feel weak. Every time he felt Nathan's muscles' flex against him it sent his skin aflame.

Nathan dropped the confused drummer on his bed with a thump.

"Did uh…did those two ever fuck?" Nathan asked, staring down at Pickles with a strange feral glint in his eyes. The singer's erection looked painful to Pickles, like he had been living with it for hours.

"Uh…I think dey' did…" Pickles could care less about fictional characters fucking (haha), all he could think about was his friend's raging hard on hovering above him. "Nate-"

"And they were like…best friends, right? Like…they didn't let it get in the way of their work or…whatever?" Nathan blurted out, averting his gaze suddenly to stare at a corner of the room.

Pickles didn't know what to say, it became obvious that Nathan wasn't really talking about the X-Files, but he didn't know how to respond. On the one hand, he was very drunk, and he had always been brutally honest. On the other though, he was afraid that Nathan wouldn't like the truth…

 _Well, feck it._ Pickles thought, he could always chalk it up as being trashed later.

"Yea. Dey didn't…dey were in love, Nate."

Nathan stood there with his mouth agape, noticing the shaky rise and fall of Pickles' chest.

Seconds past that felt like hours to Pickles.

"You wanna' smoke?" Pickles offered like nothing had just happened, like he wasn't naked, or just said something eerily profound.

"Uh…yes." Nathan mumbled, feeling stupid.

"Alwright, but I'm gahnna warn ya' dis stuff'll blow yer top." Pickles joked, swinging his legs off the bed and gaining his balance against the wall.

Pickles' room was mostly open space. His bed was a queen, not as big as whatever the hell Nathan had but still large, the headboard was a polished obsidian structure with an intricate demon carving. The bureau was massive, a purplish marble countertop and a 20 foot wide mirror. Strewn across the bureau were all the known hallucinogens, uppers, downers, powders, and pills in the modern world, along with a plethora of empty bottles and cans with ambiguous labels.

Pickles picked out a beautiful green glass bong to pack. It was a special bong, Nathan had bought it for him while they were on a friender bender in Amsterdam. Pickles had been eyeing this craftsman blowing glass in a shop window. While Pickles was passed out in their hotel room, Nathan drunkenly went down to the shop and banged on the windows and door until a very sleepy, angry artisan answered.

However, having Nathan Explosion throwing wads of hundreds at the man, drunkenly telling him to "make my drummer a fucking bong" didn't enrage the man because, of course, the jackoff was a fan.

Pickles offered Nathan the bong then threw on a pair of underwear, eyeing his bandmate as he sucked in the smoke gathering in the bong. The opalescence green color of the piece and the black ebony hair of the singer matched well, Pickles thought, especially with said singer naked in his bed.

"Yah know, we don' hafta make dis…gay." Pickles said.

"MhhhMM!" Nathan coughed, exhaling roughly all the smoke in his lungs.

Pickles smirked at Nathan's "deer in the head lights" look and took the bong from him, taking a huge rip. He was going to need it.

"What…uh…how?" Nathan asked, watching the red head exhale the smoke without coughing, he looked like some kind of dragon. Nathan never realized how smoking made Pickles look so sexy, in a very primal way Nathan wanted to smother him.

"Well, it's nat like we're goin' around feckin' other doods right? We could jest keep it between us…besides, we've fucked da' same chick at the same time, it would jest be, ya' know, without the chick."

Nathan didn't think that sounded any less gay than going around fucking dudes but if Pickles could rationalize it maybe he could too. But there was something sad about the way Pickles said it.

Nathan had always secretly wondered what it would be like to sleep with his best friend, but he had never thought about what it would be like to sleep with a man.

Without warning Pickles climbed on top of the bed and straddled Nathan's waist. He was sick of trying to justify all the crazy thoughts and feelings in his head. He knew that Nathan wanted to try it, Pickles could tell just by looking at his face.

"Uh…Pickles?" Nathan couldn't bring himself to look at his drummer in fear that Pickles would see the blush he was sure was all across his face.

"Yea-uh?" The red head looked down at the larger man he was straddling, but all he saw was a curtain of black silky hair.

"Do you mean it?"

"Na, nat really, I don't think it would be like dat at all. I think it'd be _better_ than feckin' some dumb slut with you."

Suddenly, Nathan grabbed Pickles by the waist and flung him backwards on the bed. Pickles had confirmed his feelings, now anything went.

"Whoa, big guy, calm down, alright?" Pickles' dreads were fanned out around his head, his briefs had ridden down his narrow hips and he had fear and lust in his eyes. Nathan had never seen Pickles like this before, sure, he had obviously seen him naked countless times, but the look the smaller man was giving him was like fuel to Nathan's libido.

In a rapid succession Nathan pulled down Pickles underwear and straddled the smaller man's hips, both naked once again. Pickles attempted to say something but Nathan cut him off with a deep, demanding kiss. Pickles hadn't expected him to be such a good kisser, it was a little violent, especially as he sucked in his bottom lip, suddenly biting down hard enough to draw blood.

The red head whimpered, tasting the metallic blood for only a second before Nathan licked it all up, a feral look in his dark green eyes.

Pickles felt Nathan's heavy erection against his own aching member, he risked a look down at where the two musicians' bodies met. Nathan was a least a whole three inches bigger than him, Pickles couldn't imagine putting that piece of hardware anywhere inside of him comfortably.

Nathan must have read the fear and hesitation on Pickles face, he gently pulled away from the kiss and ran his mouth over Pickles' pale collarbone, sniffing lightly at the slight smell of sweat coming off of his body.

"I'm not gonna' do that…I dunno how." Nathan mumbled into Pickles' chest, allowing his erection to bob against Pickles' own hot length.

"Oh…uh okee, maybe I can show ya' sometime." Pickles sighed against his friend, relieved but also a little disappointed. _Gad dammit…do I actually want him to put it in me? I've gadda be crazy._ Pickles had experimented a lot when he was younger, especially when he was in Snakes N' Barrels, but none of the men he was ever with had a cock as big as Nathan's.

"Hmmhmm…" Nathan growled approvingly, reaching a hand down to grasp both of their shafts. Pickles let out a strangled moan as he felt cold but soft hands wrap around him and Nathan's cock pressed blissfully against his own.

"Nate'than…oh gad…" Pickles gasped as the larger man above him began to steadily jack them both off. Nathan may not be very experienced, but at least he knew how to jack off.

After a few minutes Nathan was completely lost staring at Pickles' flustered face. The red head's eyebrows creased in a scowl, eyes closed. Every time Nathan slowed down Pickles' would whimper and arch his back, pushing his weeping cock into Nathan's palm. Pickles wasn't faking, all his little moans and motions were honest, Nathan could tell, he knew his drummer well. This was what had wanted all along, raw, brutal interaction.

"I'm getting close." Nathan growled into Pickles' ear, feeling the man beneath him shudder as his hot breath hit damp skin.

"Me too, wait, let me-"He reached down to Nathan's hands and pulled them off. Nathan looked at him pleadingly. "I wanna do dis…" Pickles pushed the larger man back onto his knees and then laid down on his stomach, the singer's large member pointed right at him.

"Whaddya' gonna do-oh…!"

Pickles grabbed Nathan's heavy balls with one hand and dug his nails into the large man's thigh while his lips ran down the length of Nathan's cock.

"Fuck, Pickles, stop teasing me!" Nathan almost yelled, it was taking every ounce of self-control to not bury his hands in those flaming red dreads and shove his shaft down Pickle's throat. With any other person he would have done it, but Pickles was his friend, he didn't want to hurt him for the fear of scaring him off. Truth was, no one had ever given him such good head before. Most women were hesitant after they see his size.

Then it clicked, Pickles had done this before. He had sucked guys off before. Instead of this new information disgusting the singer however, it made him insanely jealous.

Pickle's looked up at the blissed out man above him and smirked around his cock. Then he took all of Nathan's member in his mouth down to the base.

"Ah…there, fuuuccckkk…" Nathan sighed, the inside of his friend's mouth was warm and tight, and Pickles was still fondling his sack. Every other time he sucked down to his base the drummer would press his thumb in between Nathan's balls and ass, rubbing the sensitive skin there. It was insane. No woman had _ever_ thought to touch him there.

Pickles bobbed up and down on his front man's length, it had been forever since he had down anything like this, but he remarkably remembered all the little tricks he was taught by more experienced lovers. He could feel Nathan getting larger in his mouth, filling his throat when he attempted to deep throat him. The singer tasted salty but not bad, the smell of his sweat was even starting to turn Pickles on.

The red head sucked deeply and then released Nathan's cock with a pop.

"Do ya' like it when I deep throat ya' Nate?" Pickles smirked and pumped Nathan in his hand.

"Mhhmmm…" The larger man grunted, embarrassed at how much he was enjoying those lustful green eyes staring at him.

"What was dat? Can't hear ya'." He stopped his movements and ran his thumb over the glistening slit of Nathan's cock.

"Yes! Fuck…I do." The ebony haired rock God moaned, giving in to his lust and burying his hands in Pickles' dreads, tugging roughly.

"Are ya' gonna cum down my feckin' throat?"

"Yes!"

"Yes what?"

"I'm gonna' cum down your throat!" Nathan yelled, he couldn't take the dirty talk anymore. He had no idea Pickles was like this, and that filthy little mouth was begging to be rammed by his cock. In desperation he shoved the drummer's mouth down his shaft and began mercilessly thrusting.

Pickles' knew he had driven Nathan to his limit when he looked into his eyes and saw the animalistic need bubbling to the surface. He gagged as Nathan plunged his cock down his throat, it scared him only a little, but the feeling of being used by his best friend was somehow freeing. Pickles liked to think that no woman had ever seen this side of Nathan before. This was reserved for him. Nathan was comfortable enough to show his need instead of masking it.

In a few more thrusts Nathan shook and with a roar emptied his hot seed down Pickles' throat.

Nathan let go of the smaller man's scalp and tenderly wiped away the tears collecting in his drummer's eyes from nearly choking him. He felt guilty that he had lost control, but Nathan also had a feeling that Pickles had wanted him to do it.

Without a word, the singer drew the dazed man under him towards his chest, holding him tightly. He cupped the red-head's ass in both his hands and squeezed lightly, making the Pickles buck against his thighs. This kind of feeling was familiar to Nathan, it was like when he spent the night with Pickles when he would have nightmares, it felt like comfort.

"Nate whaddya' doin' to me?" Pickles groaned, burying his face in the crook of Nathan's neck. He felt like he was on fire, every time Nathan touched him it sent electricity coursing through his body. The tight, consistent hold Nathan had him in made the drummer want to melt.

Why had it taken them so long to try this? How many years had they wasted not doing this? When did this deep friendship turn into this sudden eruption of lust and passion? When was the last time he felt any passion in sex? His cock was so hard it was close to painful, just having it pressed against Nathan's stomach was unbearable.

"I uh…think it's your turn? Right?" Nathan said, face buried against musky dreads.

"Gad, yes please…" Pickles pleaded, thrusting his member against Nathan's belly.

"I've uh…never done it before…lemme know if I'm doin' it wrong."

Nathan crawled over Pickles' legs on his hands and knees, a little confused as to how to begin. He had only gone down on women when it was absolutely necessary, and had certainly never gone down on a dude. The red head's cock seemed to twitch as the singer breathed on the head, Pickles couldn't help thrusting his cock at Nathan's lips.

 _Shit what did I do? I just breathed on him…_ Nathan racked his brain, what did the groupies do that he liked? Or, what did Pickles just do that he loved?

Hesitantly, Nathan took the tip in his mouth, experimentally gliding his tongue over the swollen head. This wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be, Pickles actually smelled and tasted pretty good, like something sweet. Feeling more confidant, he copied what Pickles had done earlier to him and cupped his shaved balls in his large palm.

"Nate!" Pickles cried, his balls had always been sensitive, it was why he went hairless. It encouraged groupies to suck his sack, Pickles wondered if Nathan could be persuaded to do the same?

"What? Did I do something wrong?" Nathan asked, letting Pickles slip out of his mouth.

"No! Your doin' great, please…don't stahp." Pickles pleaded, his fists groping the sheets.

Nathan's heart melted at the praise, he had never cared before about giving pleasure to a bedmate. Something about the connection he was experiencing with Pickles made him want nothing more than to make him say his name like that again. He sucked the drummer's cock right down to the base, finding it only a little difficult not to gag, Pickles would gasp every time Nathan squeezed his balls. At first the singer thought he was hurting him, but as he worked his drummer he realized the older man was gasping out of pleasure, not pain.

"Is there uh…something you like done?" Nathan mumbled, rubbing his thumb over Pickles' head.

"Uh…well, m-my sack…I gess'…"

"Oh…okay…" Nathan looked to Pickles, then to his hand on his sack, back to Pickles. _Here goes…my heterosexuality probably…_ The singer chuckled to himself, giving up trying to make any of this not gay. Suddenly, Nathan was reminded of one groupie he had messed around with way back when Dethklok was nothing but a pipe dream. She hadn't been very attractive, but she did this one thing with her mouth and his balls…

Nathan breathed, then sucked a surprisingly soft ball into his mouth, switching from one ball to the other, he reluctantly glided his tongue back up to Pickles' shaft eliciting desperate moans from the red head before focusing his attention on the drummer's sack again.

The attention proved too much for Pickles, with abandon he bucked forward, groaning as his sack was being assaulted by Nathan's mouth, his large hand still pumping Pickles' length steadily. As a warning he weaved his fingers through the long strands of Nathan's hair and tugged deliciously at the man's scalp.

"Am I fuckin' it up?" Nathan asked, unabashedly, a long line of spit trailing from his lip to Pickles' sack.

 _Gad dammit' Nate._ Pickles shuddered and arched his back, riding waves of pleasure as he came all over Nathan's face.

The singer watched as Pickles' breathing returned mostly to normal, his pale chest glistened with a light sheen of sweat, Nathan couldn't help but notice how…cute he looked post-orgasm.

"Whoa…guess that was my own fault…" Nathan mumbled, wiping the hot seed off his face with a discarded shirt.

"I'm sarry! It was-I tried ta' tell ya'!" Pickles sat up, regretting it soon after as the room started to spin.

"It's fine."

"Oh…okee then…"

Nathan threw the semen stained shirt on the ground and flipped off the light, covering the two men in a blanket of blessed darkness.

Pickles could feel his wave of pleasure ebb slightly with the decreased light, but it was replaced with panic. There was no way Nathan was okay with this. He must be regretting it even now, tomorrow Nathan will ignore him, he'll avoid him at all costs and they would have destroyed their friendship.

As if an answer to his unsettled mind, Pickles felt Nathan's weight next to him, then a very soft, chaste kiss on his lips. In a desperate gesture the red head reached out and found the soft flesh of his friend's chest. He ran his hands up to the thick tendons and jugular in Nathan's throat then threw his arms around him.

Without hesitation Nathan pulled him into a tight embrace, pulling the smaller man into his lap. He wanted to stay like this forever, it just felt so damn good to hold the small man to his chest and feel his rapid heartbeat against his own. It felt liberating.

"I'm uh…pretty sure that was really gay…" Nathan mumbled.

"Heh, yeah I guess it was." Pickles giggled, burrowing his face in Nathan's chest, afraid that if he looked up he would see concern or regret on the front man's face.

But Nathan didn't pull away, instead he held Pickles tighter.

"…Can we do this again? You know…like uh…maybe try something else?" Nathan mumbled, blushing furiously.

"Again? Ya' wan' to?" The drummer chanced a look up at Nathan and was surprised to see the metal god Nathan Explosion blushing like a lovesick schoolboy. Pickles instantly regretted his question, realizing how insensitive it was.

"I mean, yeah-dat would be _really_ good." Pickles corrected.

"Mhhmm…good." Nathan avoided Pickles gaze, feeling something stirring inside of him as the drummer stared intently at him.

Without giving it a second thought, Pickles kissed the befuddled singer full on the mouth, putting to rest all of their doubts or anxieties.

Pickles emptied all of his feelings of insecurity, passion and need into the kiss. He was so happy Nathan wanted _him_ , and that he didn't think this was a mistake, that Nathan actually wanted to do this again, and more. But most importantly, there was no shame, there was only mutual love and understanding.

Alas, the kiss had to end. The two musicians would have to leave the comfort and warmth of each other's arms and go their separate ways. They would have to pretend around the haus that they hadn't had this encounter, that they weren't constantly thinking about the few sacred hours they would have together alone later that week or month. But the pair didn't care, as long as they had each other everyone else could fuck off.


	2. How to Put a Spell on a Pickle

Pickles had been with lots of people. Some girls some guys and mostly everybody in between, but something about doing it with a friend and bandmate had always felt inherently taboo. Nathan wasn't the first, Pickles had been with a certain member of Snakes and Barrels for a time. He knew how it could create tension and destruction, but he figured Nathan and him already emitted those auras. No, what Pickles was really surprised about was how nervous he felt around him or how hot he'd get since that night.

Weeks would go by before Pickles would crack and get hammered out of his mind, high as a fucking rocket and decide to confront Nathan. Every time he would end up halfway to Nathan's room before reality came crashing down. _Whadif' he has some chick in there? Whatdif' he has a dood in there? How is that gonna' look?_

 _It's gonna' look pathetic._

Pickles hadn't been with _anyone_. No groupies in his dressing room, no strippers in his lap, no hookers in his bed. _No one._ He simply didn't want them. What's even worse, he wasn't even jacking off (the norm being at least three times a day) and when he did he couldn't get Nathan out of his head. Pickles would start tugging thinking today he'd surely think about somebody, ANYBODY else, there's no way Nathan belongs in his fantasies…

Then Pickles would get the image of staring up at Nathan from the bed…looking hungrily at him, Nathan's hulking shadow enveloping him. _Those fuckin' pecks, gad has 'e always had those?_ Then Pickles would remember Nathan t _alking_ …saying dirty downright slutty things.

And the cycle continued. Today, as Pickles wiped himself clean with a dirty t-shirt, he decided that he had had enough. This was fucking ridiculous, he was a multi-trillion dollar metal musician. Pickles could get anybody he wanted. There had to be someone out there that he wanted other than fucking Nathan.

A glance in the mirror at a sex-starved half-drunk slowly balding Pickles brought him back down to earth…for a second, but if Pickles was anything he was damn plucky. He was sure he still had moves and he was gonna' use them. Pickles couldn't settle for a money hungry hooker or a crazed freaky fan girl, he needed to find a challenge. Nathan was a challenge (is a challenge, obviously) he just needed a conquest.

A shower and some clean clothes wouldn't hurt his chances though. Pickles even used some hippy ass dread wax to straighten his look out, but something was missing. Whenever Pickles used to go out when he was younger he would go the whole nine yards; leather jacket, eyeliner a shit-ton of hair spray. But fashion had changed since those youth filled nights of boozing and sleazing. He knew better than to go around in those fucking red boots he used to wear (ever since Murderface started calling him Trailer trash Dorothy).

Throwing open his wardrobe Pickles was surprised to see a plethora of clothes he didn't even know he owned. They must have been things left over from music videos. He skimmed through a few pieces, mostly band t-shirts and a surprising amount of chain mail until he fell on a nicely worn jean jacket with various fraying patches on it. Pickles couldn't recall where it came from but it looked like something he would own. The band patches were all bands he liked, but the large back piece was something he had never seen before. Pickles examined the patch:

In the center was a figure in bright blood red, only it didn't have any defining features, as Pickles looked closely he noticed it was in the shape of a man and that it had a bright flame atop its head. The background was black but the border was a primitive slithering snake with lazy stars. In strange somewhat primitive cursive were the words _"Damballah"_ under the figure in red.

Pickles didn't know what it meant, but he thought it was cool nonetheless. He threw the jacket over his shoulder and preceded to search for his typical jeans and tank. He decided to tie his dreads back in a half-assed attempt to disguise himself and a worn black beanie.

It was a rare night at Mordhaus, it was silent save for the dull buzz of electricity and the soft footsteps of gears walking fluidly through the tall dark corridors. Pickles knew Nathan was sequestered in the deep dungeons of the haus trying to come up with song ideas. He had been down there all week, Pickles knew better than to bother him. The rest of the band were out getting hookers and ice cream with Offdenson.

Pickles stepped out of his room, dressed in his new found vestments and brimming with purpose. A sideways glance into a hallway mirror elicited a smug smirk.

 _Still gat it_. The sunglasses and the new get up even made him look a little less like Pickles the drummer more like some Hell's Angels member. Pickles had always liked biker bars, maybe he would find one.

Glancing down the hallways before rushing across he made his way down to their humongous garage. Sneaking around gave him a little thrill, it was like when he would sneak out of his parents' house back in Tomahawk. Although here he knew there would be no repercussions, the gears would only try to help him. Pickles didn't want them to escort him around, it would give himself away. For one night he wanted to try being a regular jack off just looking to get laid. Maybe it would work and someone out there might flip his switch, he had to try.

He settled on taking his souped' up Triumph motorcycle to stick to his storyline. He was going to be the basic motor-head looking for some cheap thrills on the open road, probably on the run from the law, chicks liked that.

It took Pickles at least an hour to get out of sight from Mordhaus. He drove till the dark, serpentine dragon and control towers were out of sight, wondering if Offdenson had planted a microchip in his head to track him at all times. The man had enough chances while Pickles had been dead drunk, it would've been easy.

Finally after passing hip yuppie clubs and shitty karaoke bars Pickles reached a real dive bar. There were cheap banners advertising cigarettes and piss beer, the door man was obscenely large, his eyes followed Pickles as he pulled in. First he feared the man recognized him, then he realized that the man wasn't looking at him, but at his bike.

"What's that? A new one? I aint' ever seen one like that." The man grunted as Pickles approached the entrance.

"Yea."

"What the hell is on the handles? Those custom?"

"Yea."

The door man grunted affirmation and shifted his fat thigh lazily from the door, allowing Pickles to pass.

The bar was smoky even though there had been a ban on smoking in bars for years in the area. The orange lights hanging from the ceiling were dusty, bathing everything in a dark orange luminescence. In a dark corner a half-lit jukebox played out some generic country rock band. Along the bar sat the few obvious bar flies staring forlornly into their glasses, a few older men were playing pool, Pickles noticed the group of people in the back surrounding the person playing pac-man.

Pickles ordered a whiskey from the overly-buxom bartender. He winked at her, but all he got in return was a dead stare. This woman was no nonsense, no time for entertaining random assholes. He glanced over at the men sitting around him, all typical bar flies drinking their own precious poison. The group playing pool were submerged in a thick smoke that mostly obscured their faces, Pickles swung around in his chair and watched them shoot. There was something peaceful about the scene, men drinking without speaking, the buzz of conversation from the group playing pac-man was more like background noise.

Pickles realized that this might not have been the best bar to pick up chicks. Aside from the two watching pac-man and the bartender the place was devoid of women. He didn't mind though, no one had given him a second look so far save the bouncer and he could blame his flashy bike on that. No one asking for autographs or throwing themselves at him, everyone was treating him like some miserable jack-off _Like fucking normal._

He knocked back his drink, signaling for the bartender to pour him another Jack on ice.

Two more drinks within the span of fifteen minutes and Pickles was starting to like the place. Slayer was playing on the juke box (in fact the jukebox only offered metal and rock pre-2000) the drinks were stiff and no one had accosted him yet. The bar was filling with a thick smoke, Pickles assumed it was because almost everyone there was lighting up but the smell was different from your typical Marlborough or Camel. Pickles knew it wasn't cigarette smoke, he had had enough fancy cigars to know that's what he was smelling.

Pickles spun around, looking for the source of the cigar smoke, no one was smoking one.

"Hey, hey lady, you guys sell cigars?" Pickles asked, the bartender refilled his empty glass and rolled her eyes.

"Oh yeah, we got Cubans rolling them in the back. You want one?" She scoffed and sauntered off to do whatever bartenders do when they're not pouring drinks.

"Okey 'den…" Pickles mumbled and sipped his drink. Someone was smoking a cigar. He knew it. And it wasn't some cheap one you get behind a gas station counter either. He decided to go looking for the source, the smoke was coming in thicker, and his visibility was about five feet in front of him.

"Jeesus what da hell is this shit?" Pickles reached his arms out in front of him shuffling his feet toward the bathroom. Maybe someone was hot boxing it, _with cigar smoke?_

The smoke damaged bathroom door felt hot under Pickles' fingers, _is this shit on fire?_

He pushed it open and was instantly greeted with a billow of smoke, but it was not hot, and there were no flames greeting him on the other side. The only thing in the dirty little bathroom was a dark figure against the wall and the fat red cherry tip of the elusive cigar.

"Hey chief, wanna' share with the class?" Pickles laughed, walking towards the dark figure. The thick spicy aroma of the cigar engulfed him and all he could think of was taking a giant toke.

"Sure my friend. Come closer." A man with a Caribbean accent answered.

As Pickles got closer he could make out the man's face. He was black, darker than anyone Pickles had ever seen, actually. Pickles had traveled the whole world, he'd been to Africa and the Caribbean before, never had he ever seen someone with such a pitch-black complexion. The man was handsome, nicely formed cheekbones and cupid bow lips. His eyes were almost as striking as his complexion, very bright green. Greener than even Pickles' own eyes. They seemed to pulsate.

The man extended a brand new cigar toward Pickles. Pickles, in a very uncharacteristic way, gripped the cigar between his lips and allowed the strange man to light it for him. He inhaled deeply, the spices from the cigar tickling his tongue. He leaned on the tiled wall next to the mysterious man and allowed his eyes to close.

"Ya know, they don't make 'em like 'dis anymore."

"I have my own special supply, my friend. I am offered them all around de' world." The man laughed, his eyes watched Pickles smoke with intense interest.

"Well, you gatta' be someone then."

"Yes, I am someone indeed." The man smiled widely, revealing two gold teeth, one on bottom one on top, his second front tooth looked rotted. Pickles found it strange that a man could afford two gold teeth and not three. He ignored the oddity and continued to smoke his cigar, the strange dark man all the while staring at him with those glistening eyes.

After a few minutes of silence Pickles chose to speak up.

"So…who are ya'?"

"I have many names. Like you!" The strange man heartily laughed.

"You don't know my name." Pickles retorted, slightly worried he had blown his cover.

The strange man winked at him and pulled from somewhere unseen behind him a set of onyx colored drumsticks with small red inscribed lettering (or what looked like lettering, Pickles wasn't entirely sure).

"You are Pickles the Drummer, you are also Patrick O'Sullivan." The man smacked the sticks together playfully. "Doodily doodily doo! Ha-Ha!"

"How. Th'fuck. Do ya' know my name." Pickles cut the man off, squaring his shoulders and trying to look as intimidating as possible. How did this man know his real name? His own family didn't call him by his birth name, hell, Nathan was the only one in the band that even knew his first name…and last name?

"It is my business to know these 'tings, my friend." The man laughed again. He didn't like not being in the know, he especially didn't like people he didn't know knowing so much about him. Pickles took another drag of the cigar and dropped it to the floor, snuffing out its life with the heel of his shoe.

"Look you feckin' freak, I don't know how th'fuck you know my name, I don't know who told ya' or why. I'll give ya' one chance to explain, then I'm gonna' kick yer' ass."

The man nodded enthusiastically, but he didn't seem intimidated as much as eager. Pickles narrowed his eyes and took a mental note of the man's appearance in case he had to get a gear to make him disappear later. It was now that Pickles noticed the fine red velvet double breasted coat unbuttoned, revealing the bare chest of the man, a glittering golden necklace with a heavy pendant against his onyx skin. A top his head he wore a homely straw hat. He was still holding the drumsticks in his hand, shifting them between his fingers aimlessly.

"Fair enough. I am Atibon Legba, The Gatekeeper between dis' world and de' world of the spirits, I am Coyote, Crow and Raven, but many know me as Papa Legba. I know all tings', that is how I know your name, as well as many ting's about you, Pickles the Drummer."

Pickles had no idea why he believed this strange man, but something about his demeanor, and the way he read his names like a laundry list stroke a chord with him. A chill ran through his body, Pickles knew what he was looking at wasn't human, like something instinctual. But he'd be damned if he was going to let this guy off the hook.

"Okey…prove it den'."

The man named Papa Legba lifted a sculpted eyebrow and pursed his lips. Then, with the drumsticks in both his hands, he whacked them against each other, the red scroll like lettering glowed. Pickles felt icy cold fingers on his shoulder, tugging his jacket off him.

"What th'feck!" The jacket slid off him and it levitated off the ground, the sleeves filled out and it looked like an invisible force was living within the jacket. Pickles tried to grab at it but the jacket of its own omission dodged him and playfully spun across the bathroom till it rested against the bathroom door, the back patch facing toward them.

"'Dis is why I have come. You are wearin' my veve," Papa Legba walked toward the jacket, Pickles noticed now he used a beautifully lacquered cane and had a slight limp, "Someone made 'dis just for you, my friend. Someone who wants you very much."

"What th'hell is a "veve"? This some kinda' voodoo shit?" Pickles suddenly looked at the cigar crushed on the floor, was there something else in the cigar? It HAD to be laced.

"Veve is my…callin' card if you like. Voodoo? Not da' kind of voodoo you know… a witch uses it to call me, and, if the witch is strong enough, I come." Papa Legba stroked the jean jacket lovingly. "And a very powerful witch made 'dis for you…" He pointed toward the words "Damballah"

"Papa Damballah, he is the creator, or one of dem'. The one who made 'dis thought you would like him best. You are a lucky, lucky man, Pickles the Drummer, Papa Damballah does not work de' magic for anyone." Papa Legba smiled a toothy grin, with another flourish of his drumsticks the jacket fell limp and lifeless from the door into his hands. He limped over to Pickles and extended the jacket to him.

"Papa Damballah does not work the magic of love for many a mortal either."

Pickles took the jacket, for some reason, he felt naked without it on.

"Love magic?"

"Yes, love magic. You see the red figure is you, someone has put a spell on you."

"Who?" Pickles asked, now completely enthralled by this seemingly otherworldly man.

"Oh I cannot tell you that, Pickles the Drummer, besides, you already know who. Although, it is a funny 'ting…" Legba laughed again.

"What? What's so funny? Who da' feck are ya' talkin' bout?"

"Well…my friend, I'm not sure they needed the magic. I can see it writ all ova' your face!"

Like a vision slowly dissipating, Papa Legba's form began to disappear.

"Whoa whoa whoa where ya' goin!?" Pickles poked at the slowly disappearing form of Papa Legba.

"I have done my part, now it is up to you, depart from dis' sad and lowly place, Pickles the Drummer. The one you seek is in front of you, Damballah will guide you!"

Pickles stood alone in the grimy bathroom, staring at the spot where the strange man once stood. _What da' feck just happened?_ The smoke had dissipated like it had never been there, the smell was completely gone, the only evidence that Pickles had of what happened was the snubbed cigar laying on the tile floor.

 _It was real…that guy was here…_

This hadn't been the first time (obviously) that Pickles had seen something supernatural. Trolls, ghosts, drug-induced poltergeists, he had seen these things all before. Pickles had never seen anything quite like Papa Legba before, in fact, it was how solid and real he looked that made it all the more disturbing. Something like that could walk around in the open without anyone thinking he wasn't just a normal mortal.

But what about what he said about Pickles' jacket? Love spell or some shit? Witches? Was is some witch that planted the jacket in his room? He had an image of some busty Elvira like lady (probably some undercover gear or obsessed fan) somehow sneaking into his room (probably with witch magic or some shit).

Pickles tried to put it out of his mind as he cautiously walked out of the bathroom back to the bar.

Everyone was gone.

Like… _everyone._ The lights were out and the bartender had vacated the premises. But it was more than that.

The place was dusty, the various cheap bottles of liquor that once sat on the bar were gone, the jukebox was unplugged, the chairs were all put up on top of the tables. The place where the pac-man machine sat was empty.

"What…da' feck?" Pickles spun around looking toward the pool table only to see all the balls and sticks were missing and a dusting of ceiling plaster covered the once ivy green fabric. There was no way this was the same bar Pickles had drank in earlier. There was no _fucking_ way.

He backed away slowly from the empty dilapidated bar, making his way toward the exit which was ominously wide open. It looked like someone had forced the lock and broken in…had he done that? Had he somehow in a drunken haze he didn't know he was in come all the way over here to break into a closed bar…?

His bike sat where he had left it, undisturbed. Only now all the other bikes that had once surrounded his was gone.

 _I'm feckin' nuts, that's it, finally lost it. Offdensons gonna' cart me off to some loony bin and that'll be it. Bang. Strait jacket. Padded room. Lobotomy. No more Pickles the drummer._

 _But the cigar!_

Pickles shakily mounted his bike and kicked the starter, giving one last look at the bar. It sat quietly, as if it was saying _Nope, not I, I'm not to blame for how fucking crazy you are._

With the taste of the cigar and phantom whiskey on his tongue he peeled out of the abandoned parking lot and sped down the deserted road toward Mordhaus.

AN: I used a couple sources for Papa Legba who is in no way an original character, here are some sources if this kinda' stuff interests you:

/wicca-witchcraft/papa-legba-for-witches

Reviews are love!


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